


Quiet

by colorfulCheshire



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humanstuck, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 09:34:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9378674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colorfulCheshire/pseuds/colorfulCheshire
Summary: The quiet has never really bothered Kankri, not usually, but he knows the same can't be said for Cronus, especially not now.





	

It’s dark in his apartment when Kankri returns home.  At least, it’s darker than it is outside – the dim light of dusk fading quickly even where it offers a ghost of light from behind drawn curtains in the living room window.  It’s not an uncommon sight to him, especially with the waning days of winter quickly approaching and darkening the skies closer and closer to the end of his usual shift, but he hadn’t expected the sight (or really, the lack-there-of) today, not with Cronus’ car still parked just outside of their building.  Kankri sees no sign of him now in the dim outlines of the furniture, and as he flicks on the light, the only hint of his boyfriend at all is his phone on the coffee table, a forgotten notification pulsing as a slow, steady blue light.

The deadbolt clicks too loudly into place and he can’t help but to notice that it’s far too quiet in his apartment.  Frowning, he kicks off his shoes and deposits his belongings on the table as he passes, too concerned over the silence to bother putting them away neatly.  Kankri knows his boyfriend has been having a difficult time ever since the news hit him, but Cronus almost always texts him whenever he plans on napping, if only to ask that Kankri wakes him when he returns home.

“Cronus?”

He’s met with no answer and he regrets calling out now, as the quiet around him seems to press in that much more once his cautious voice has trailed off into nothing.  Even his footsteps down the carpeted hallway sound unfamiliar and too loud and the thought unsettles him.

Cool metal meets even more chilled fingers as Kankri wraps his hand around the doorknob to his and Cronus’ bedroom.  He pauses, though, not sure why at first until he hears it again – a quiet, hallow gasp from behind him, on the other side of the door of what Cronus likes to call their studio-office.  There’s no light shining from beneath the door, but he doesn’t hesitate to open it, frowning as he steps inside the dark room and is met with another small gasp and a choked, muffled sob.

The dying light of day and yellowed streetlamps outside easily reveal the shape of his boyfriend sitting in the middle of the floor, broad shoulders hunched over his crossed legs and his face hiding in his hands.  Paper litters the floor around and beneath him and his guitar, forgotten off to the side.  He’s crying – short, tight sobs and tense, seething breaths through his teeth before his shoulders lurch with new air, as if he’s trying to stop breathing altogether. 

It’s … painful for Kankri to see him like this, to see Cronus’ usually impulsive and playful personality broken down to reveal the hurt hidden beneath, things that would never be dealt with if Cronus could get away with it, not that Kankri could ever blame him – not when he does the same damn thing.  He understands and that makes seeing Cronus like this – tense, withdrawn, and trying not to lose himself – that much worse. He knows firsthand that grief can’t be bottled up and buried, not when a part of you is suddenly missing.  He feels like he should have seen this coming, but Cronus had managed to weather two days of work while seeming unaffected, so really, it was anyone’s guess as to when he would finally break.

“Cronus.”

The name earns no response, but as Kankri approaches, he can make out the shape of his boyfriend’s large stereo-headphones over his ears, which brings him some relief, however slight it may be, that Cronus isn’t ignoring him.  He’s careful, then, as he lowers himself to touch Cronus’ shoulder, two fingers light against cotton first before flattening to his palm after the initial jolt from his upset.

“K-kanni?” Cronus’ voice is so small, cracking on Kankri’s petname over trembling lips, and even in the dark Kankri sees the gleam of wet tears around pale eyes and stuck in thin lashes. 

His lips are drawn tight, but Kankri nods, raising his other hand to wipe one tear-streaked cheek with the sleeve of his jacket when he feels a warm hand at his waist, tugging him closer but with far less insistence than usual, and it hurts more than he expected to see Cronus so reserved.  With a silent sigh, he complies, feeling a little guilty as he steps on a few scattered pages to lower himself onto Cronus’ laps, delicate hands removing his boyfriend’s too-large headphones and lowering them to the floor before thin arms wrap around broad shoulders and pull the mess of a man closer.

Cronus hides his face against Kankri’s neck, strong arms tense against his back and fingers trembling in soft, messy curls.  He whispers an apology, trying to stay quiet, but Kankri’s now stroking his loose hair and the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck and telling him that he doesn’t have to apologize and what little bit of willpower Cronus had is quickly being lost in those soft tones and the promise that it’s okay, that it’s just the two of them, that he’s there.

His muffled voice against Kankri’s neck says that he’s stupid for crying, that he shouldn’t care, that he doesn’t have the right to care – he and his old man hated each other’s guts after all, couldn’t stand being around each other ever since Eridan became the favorite, ever since he started acting like Cronus was some big fuck up who could never hope to meet his expectations.  He tries to insist that he does hate his father, even now, but trembling lips stumble over his words and he ends up crying harder, curling further into himself until he’s hiding beneath his small boyfriend’s chin and gripping the fabric of his jacket like a lifeline.  He hates him, he insists; he misses him, he sobs a second later, and he fucking hates himself for letting it end like this, on such a sour note, if only because he’ll never be able to fix it now, never tell his dad that it fucking hurt to go from number one to nothing, tell him that even if he hates the old man’s guts, that he still wanted his dad to be proud of him again.

Kankri is quiet through it all, only offering a gentle, quiet hushing whenever Cronus’ sobbing starts growing too loud and he worries that his distraught lover is overwhelming himself.  He smooths back usually-styled hair, lets delicate hands trail up and down the heat of his spine, presses patient lips to Cronus’ temple and forehead – anything he can to soothe and comfort the wreck of a man in his arms, all the things Kankri wanted but could never accept himself back when he lost his mother, all the things he knows that will ease Cronus’ weary mind because how could he not?

Cronus has quieted, deflated even, by the time Kankri gently suggests that they wash up and watch a movie, two of many things that usually help put his boyfriend to sleep, not that he ever needs the help.  Cronus gives a slow, tired nod, and pulls away after another few moments, glossy eyes turned towards the dark room rather than Kankri, who finds it a little uncomfortable when given how often he’s the one avoiding Cronus’ near-constant gaze.

Biting the inside of his lip, Kankri leans in to kiss a wet cheek – once, twice – and then his lips, ignoring the nagging thought that crying leaves you gross and messy.  Cronus’ shoulders shake with a small shiver, but he sighs and presses into the kiss, trembling lips now steady with practiced ease and the sort of quiet, gentle desperation that always communicates just how much he needs his touch. 

 

* * *

 

It's quiet between them later in the kitchen as Kankri starts the water for tea, a few stray droplets still dripping from his own hair, but when he returns to Cronus’ side, lips pressed to the damp bare skin over his shoulder blade, he notices that it’s the comfortable sort of silence, the kind that feels right.  Cronus’ smile only just touches his eyes, but he lights up, if only a little, when his darling Kankri leans up further without another word to capture his lips with an insistent kiss.


End file.
